Going Home
by fakiagirl
Summary: A collection of USUK drabbles and short fics, both AU and not.
1. Britannia Angel

_Author's note: _This is a collection of oneshots and the like. They are all bits and pieces of old fics I am never going to finish that I have edited into what you see here. (I have a _lot _of unpublished and unfinished fics). They are also posted on my Tumblr (unnecessaryligatures) under the tag "usuk drabbles".

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_Britannia Angel_

Britannia angel was supposed to be a myth: the memory of the great British Empire, manifested in a form that could sometimes be seen. Alfred had heard some countries talking about it, once, but he hadn't been sure he believed them. Then he had seen it – not in Britain, but in the desert on a dark, moonless night.

Alfred had been making his way back from a reconnaissance mission to where he and his men were stationed, but he had gone the long way to pay Arthur a visit. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near Arthur's camp, and his soldiers would have expected him back nearly an hour ago, but Alfred hadn't seen Arthur in weeks. He wiped dirt from his face, though he knew he was likely just smearing it farther across his skin. He could see a faint light on the horizon, and when he came over the crest of a hill, he finally, finally found himself looking at British troops.

There were no fires, only dim lamps, but they were not the source of the light that Alfred had seen. There was a glimmering, white form hovering above the British camp, its wings stroking downwards softly and regularly like a heartbeat. Alfred stared. He had always imagined that the Britannia angel would be in the thick of battle, a warrior fighting as fiercely as the men that had once been his, and surely this couldn't be …

Alfred made his way down the hill, loosening rocks and sand as he did so, but he didn't bother to hide his approach. A sentry hailed him, but Alfred didn't answer. His uniform marked him as one of theirs, and he carried none of his weapons in his hands. Perhaps seeing the look on his face, the sentry let him pass.

As Alfred came closer, he could see the troops' faces more clearly. None of them seemed able to see the angel, but it was as though they could feel his presence. Many of them were clustered underneath him. None of them were smiling, particularly, but they seemed much more relaxed and calm than they should have been on a battlefield. When Alfred broke through the crowd, he saw that the face of the angel was Arthur's. His eyes were closed, and he looked peaceful. Alfred felt a pang in his heart. Arthur was a great empire no longer, but he _had _been great once, and if only Arthur could understand …

"Is something wrong?" asked a soldier nearby.

Alfred looked at him as though in a daze. "No," he said finally.

"You hurt?" the soldier asked. He looked honestly concerned.

Alfred looked around and found that he was in front of the medical tent. The Britannia angel was hovering immediately above it. Of course, Alfred realized; that was where he could do the most good now. If he could make his troops calm, then perhaps he could actually heal his soldiers – or, at least, give them the rest they needed to die in peace. As Alfred watched, the angel opened his eyes and _looked _at Alfred.

The flap of the tent was pushed back immediately and someone in uniform stepped out. "Oy!" called a familiar voice. "What are you loitering over there for?"

"Sorry, sir," responded the soldier who had spoken to Alfred, and he disappeared back into the crowd. Alfred was slightly annoyed at himself for talking to the soldier; there was no better way to attract another country's attention than interacting with his or her people. He couldn't help it now, though, and he could only watch as Arthur turned his sharp gaze on him.

"Well, come over here then," Arthur said. Though his words were terse, there was a fondness to his tone that Alfred didn't miss. Alfred glanced at the Britannia angel and saw that he had closed his eyes again. Glad to no longer be under that unnerving stare, Alfred ambled over to Arthur.

Alfred saw that Arthur was trying very hard to look displeased, and Alfred grinned at him. "You didn't write, so I got worried."

"As if I'd ever write to you," Arthur muttered, but he let Alfred pull him into a brief hug.

"Bomb blast?" Alfred asked quietly. There were more bandages, bloody and not, going in and out of the medical tent than there would be on a good day.

"Mines," Arthur responded shortly. Alfred put his hand briefly on Arthur's shoulder for comfort. Arthur didn't meet his eyes.

"You really think it's smart to have that glowing thing hanging out up there? I could see it for miles," Alfred said casually.

Arthur looked up sharply. "So you can see, it can you?" Alfred shrugged and Arthur looked away again. "It won't be a problem. It's only visible when it wants to be." He chewed on his lower lip as he stared off into the darkness. "Well, I should get back to my duties," he said.

"Oh, yeah, of course," said Alfred. He didn't have any right to be disappointed; this was war, and they both had jobs to do. Alfred did his best to smile. "Right. See you around."

"Hopefully not on a stretcher," Arthur muttered so quietly Alfred almost didn't hear it. He nodded once at Alfred and disappeared back in the tent.

After a moment, Alfred started back the way he had come. When he got back to the top of the ridge, he turned and looked back. Britannia angel was still hovering there like something out of a dream, soothing and comforting the men and women who fought for the country he had become. It was beautiful, really, and it moved Alfred more than he would ever admit to Arthur.

If that was what empires became when they died, maybe he shouldn't be so afraid.


	2. Smooth Skating

_Smooth Skating_

Arthur leaned against the railing and watched as people whizzed past him on the ice rink. From a group of pre-teen girls clearly at a birthday party to the show-off hockey jocks, to a family with children who couldn't be older than four and six, the ice was packed with people on ice skates. Arthur smiled as a boy just managed to keep his younger sister from falling. That was one thing about ice skating: it appealed to everyone.

One of the hockey boys sped past him so close he felt the wind on his face, and for a moment all he could see was a blur of blond hair. Arthur gave the man's receding back a disgruntled look. He could tell he was on a hockey team for three reasons: (1) he kept doing sudden stops that were _not _allowed; (2) he was wearing an oversized hockey jersey; and (3) he was clearly way too confident.

True to Arthur's judgement of him, a second later the man came to a sudden stop, turned around, and laughed as someone nearly slammed into him. All Arthur saw was a mess of blond hair and glasses as the two men tried not to fall over. When they separated, Arthur was surprised to see that they were amazingly similar in appearance. It was difficult to tell from the distance, but they looked similar enough to be brothers: blond hair, glasses, and about the same height. The less reckless of the two was shouting something at the other, but Arthur couldn't hear it over the voices of the crowd and the music. The reckless one just laughed, slapped him on the shoulder, and skated away.

Arthur watched them make another round of the full-sized rink. They both played hockey and had probably come there together, Arthur decided. They would repeatedly skate together for a while, and then the reckless one would pull ahead and try to get the other to race him. Now that he was looking for it, he could tell that they were both wearing skates that looked different from the ones the rink rented out. He smiled and wondered with amusement if they were on a school team. His gaze drifted to the other patrons of the rink. It was relaxing to watch other people skate for fun.

"Hey, eyebrows," someone called. Arthur's head snapped up just in time to meet the laughing blue eyes of the reckless one. The man turned as he skated past and began to skate backwards. "You gonna come out here?"

Arthur was too surprised to reply before the man was was gone again. When he came around the rink a second time, though, Arthur was ready.

"It's not so hard, blondie," the man said as he came near Arthur and slowed down. "If you need some help, I'd be happy to lend you a hand." He winked generously.

"I'm quite alright here, thanks," Arthur called after him. The man's eyes widened and he nearly ran into a small boy trying to pull himself along the wall. He turned around and moved out of the way just in time. Arthur smirked and wondered what had surprised him so.

Arthur watched as the man came around the rink again. This time, he raced around the rink as fast as he was able and came to a sudden stop in front of Arthur. Arthur couldn't resist rolling his eyes at the show. When he looked up, he found himself staring directly into blue eyes that, for once, weren't moving. "You aren't from here," the man said, sounding slightly accusatory.

"No, I don't believe I am," Arthur returned dryly. "Are you?" He gestured at the American flag embroidered proudly on his jersey. "You seem a little American for Toronto."

The man looked embarrassed. "Oh, yeah. But that's different." Before Arthur could ask why, the man grinned blindingly. "So, are you gonna come out here and skate? It's really not that hard. I'd be happy to help you out."

Arthur smiled. "Thank you for the offer, but I'd really rather not."

The man moved a little closer to the sidewall. "Can I at least have your name?"

"Arthur," Arthur said amusedly.

"Alfred," the man said, and stuck out his hand.

Arthur eyed it, but took it with an amused smile. "My pleasure." Alfred laughed. "What?" Arthur demanded.

"You're so British."

With that, Alfred skated off. "Hey Matt!" he called out to his look-alike. The other man came to a gentle stop and looked back at him. Alfred skated over to him and they began to talk, skating as they went. Arthur supposed that Alfred was perhaps a little on the handsome side – despite his being American, of course.

It had become late and the rink was near closing time. It had been slowly emptying of its occupants for the past half hour, and Alfred and Matt were two of the few who remained. Their circles had become slower and their stops less showy. Arthur decided it was about time, so he got out his pair of skates and laced them up. He stood at the entrance to the ice for a moment, just watching. Alfred noticed and whistled to get his attention (certainly not in an appreciative way, Arthur assured himself). "You finally gonna try out the ice?" he called from the opposite side of the rink. Arthur simply smiled and stepped out.

He did one circuit just to warm up, nice and slow. He kept a little to the inside so he wouldn't interfere with Matt and Alfred. Alfred seemed impressed that he could skate. Arthur considered things. He could do his normal warm-up routine, or . . . he could try something else.

Arthur came closer to the inside of the rink and skated a little more quickly. He made sure he had Alfred's attention (not that he _wanted _Alfred to see, of course; he was just proving that he didn't need his help to learn how to skate) before he headed out for the far end of the rink. He looped around neatly and came back towards the center at a nice, even pace. He came a little faster, and then . . . double axel.

He came away with a clean landing. He heard Alfred actually give a little yell of surprise and he smirked. _How's that for ice skating, _he thought as he pulled away smoothly. He shouldn't have done the jump, he knew. He wasn't really warmed up. Suppressing a sigh, he went back to circling the rink at a steady pace.

He heard the scrape of metal on ice and Alfred pulled up beside him, keeping pace easily. "So, uh," he said, and when Arthur glanced at him, he saw that his cheeks seemed to be flushed a little more than the cold air called for. "You can skate."

"Yes," Arthur said dryly.

"Do you skate here a lot?" Alfred asked, clearly trying to be as casual as possible.

"I'll only be here for the next few months while I train for the Olympics."

Alfred made a strange, choked noise and nearly careened into the sidewall. He swerved away just in time and hurried to catch up with Arthur, who hadn't slowed down. Much. Because he definitely hadn't been worried. "Oh," said Alfred.

"Mmm," agreed Arthur with a small, smug smile.

"It's a good thing we won't be competing against each other, then."

Arthur did not nearly run into the sidewall. He ran straight into Alfred.

They fell to the ice in a mess of windmilling arms and sharp skates. Alfred's glasses went flying, and Arthur only just managed to avoid impaling him with the metal blades of his skates before he fell on top of him.

Alfred let out a low groan. Arthur would have done the same, but the breath had been knocked out of him. He wheezed and tried to struggle off Alfred, but then he discovered that his right arm was numb. Excellent.

"Are you okay?" Alfred moaned.

_I should be asking you that, _Arthur tried to say, but he ended up just making a hoarse sound. He finally dug the toes of his skates into the ice and managed to struggle up onto his hands and knees. He looked down at Alfred, who was squinting at him. This close, Arthur could tell that he had pretty blue eyes. Alfred really was handsome, even if right now he looked like someone had just shone a bright light in his eyes. "Don't tell me you have a concussion," Arthur managed to say.

"Glasses," Alfred said pitifully, and he closed his eyes.

Alfred didn't seem to be clutching anything in agony, so Arthur got off him and considered trying to stand up. He didn't really feel up for it, so he crawled slowly across the ice to where Alfred's glasses had fallen. Arthur had definitely bruised his right knee, and his hands felt like they were going to fall off. He winced all the way, but he finally reached Alfred's glasses and picked them up. They were unharmed.

When he got back to Alfred, Alfred was sitting up and looking much perkier. "I didn't hit my head that hard," he assured Arthur. He continued to squint at him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Arthur told him. He narrowed his eyes at Alfred, unconvinced, and put a hand close to one of Alfred's eyes. He removed it and Alfred stared at him blankly. His pupil narrowed obediently in response to the light, just as it was supposed to. Satisfied, Arthur handed him back his glasses. While Alfred put them on, Arthur gingerly got to his feet. He held out a hand to Alfred, who took it gratefully. The moment of pulling Alfred up pushed them both forwards – or, from Arthur's perspective, backwards. The freckles on Alfred's nose were very clear from this distance.

Freckles were definitely not Arthur's weakness. Neither was the megawatt smile that Alfred flashed at him. "I'm really sorry about that," Alfred said, even though Arthur was pretty sure that it had been his fault. He still hadn't let go of Arthur's hand, and Arthur wasn't really sure he wanted him to. They drifted slowly to a stop. "Since I've ruined your practice anyway, what do you say to a bite to eat?"

Arthur arched an eyebrow. "With a perfect stranger?"

"Nah, just Alfred F. Jones from the US Olympic Hockey Team."

Arthur snorted. "What, am I supposed to have heard of you befo–"

Alfred F. Jones. As in the current rising star in all of ice hockey. Right. Definitely not familiar. At all.

Alfred was grinning.

Arthur turned bright red and cleared his throat. "I suppose I could make an exception," he said haughtily. "Since I–"

"Don't tell me," Alfred said. He made a face as he thought. "Arthur . . . Kirkland? Silver in . . . 1990?"

Arthur spluttered in rage. "1990! I am not that old!"

"Dude, I was alive then!"

"How old were you? _Two months?" _

"I'm going to go home, then," said Matthew.

"So, dinner?" said Alfred hopefully. "I _did _get your name right. Right?"

"That's beside the point!" exclaimed Arthur.

"Whatever you say, Artie," Alfred said as he began to skate backwards, pulling Arthur along with him.

_"Artie?!" _

The rink echoed with the sound of Alfred's laughter and a single sigh from a disgruntled Canadian.


End file.
